


Objective Purity

by t0talcha0s



Category: BioShock
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Death(s), Descriptions of Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rapture was a gory hellhole, but somehow despite the horrendous nature of his situation there Jack managed to wash his hands of the entire affair and find something better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objective Purity

Jack's hands aren't bloody. Most of him is, his cream sweater is now more red, his black pants are heavy and wet with gore, and he even has a dried red streak across his forehead from where he wiped away his sweat with his forearm, but his hands are clean. His left hand is crackling with the burn of Incinerate, any blood is cleaned away by the fire, and his right is protected from the spray of blood by the blood-spattered shotgun in his hand. 

Of course, metaphorically speaking, Jack's hands are as bloody as they come; Steinman, Peachy, Silas, Martin, Hector, Ryan, Fontaine, and countless splicers. If his hands truly showed the blood from each murder he committed his hands would be stained deep, wine red, one that no amount of scrubbing could remove. But they weren't, they were clean. His nails had a bit of dirt under them, perhaps a few crumbs from a Pep Bar had found their way under there, but even his nails shone as pure as the soft skin stretched over the rest of his hands. 

It didn't make sense to Jack that out of every place on his body his hands would be the one free of gore. He had a bit of bone stuck in a pile of viscera atop his left shoe but his hands, the things that had caused the mess on his body in the first place, were clean. He didn't mind so much, they had done some good things too. He had saved so many little girls with his bare hands, had received so many little nods and 'thank you mister's from them for his work, he had resurrected the trees of Arcadia which provided fresh, clean air to the whole city, he had cobbled together the Lazarus Vector with his own two hands, he had piloted the bathysphere that had brought to the surface the girls he had saved, and the woman who had saved him. 

Tenembaum hadn't gifted him much insight into what seemingly made his massacre righteous, she worked for her own reasons, the girls, revenge against Fontaine, a debt to Jack, but he couldn't be more thankful for everything she had done for him. She taught him to speak with his hands after he shredded his vocal chords at her command, she gifted him the ability to heal the girls that are now his daughters, and she had provided him with refuge every time he needed it. 

Her death had been a harsh blow to him, but a happy moment. It had been years since her second, and final, visit to Rapture. She had rescued as many children as she possibly could, she helped another man just like she had helped Jack, Porter was his name, she had helped Jack raise the children to completion, she had seen each of them graduate and go on to a world of great things for them. It was obvious she was content when she lay in the hospital bed old, but not old enough, and dying. She had taken Jack's hand, turned his palm towards the sky and gazed upon the tattoos that inked his wrist; and she had smiled. It was not a full smile, something small and undoubtedly new and genuine for her. She gave Jack's hand a squeeze and turned her attention to the girls that had come to visit her. 

Her death didn't make sense to Jack, but he hardly questioned it, she seemed content enough and that was what he believed mattered. He held two of his girls hands on the way home from the hospital, listening to them comment on the daffodils on the roadside and the most recent adventures in their lives, he found himself then the closest to understanding Tenenbaum's contented passing. 

Jack, throughout his life, worked with his hands. He was strong and a good worker, and he made his wage in whatever job could use his hands most. He was never wanting for money. His hands grew calloused, worn, and worked but he hardly noticed much, he considered it an almost meaningless sacrifice for a good paycheck. 

Laying in a sterile hospital bed Jack held his hands outstretched with his palms towards the heavens, each of his girls reaching for a place atop his wide fingers. He smiled contentedly, eyeing his tattooed wrists in confident defiance, as if the man who had him tattooed and the man for whom the tattoos represented his philosophy could see him from an afterlife. He nodded at his girls, admiring their faces one last time, thinking of their individual successes and how he couldn't be more proud of his makeshift family. He wrapped his hands around theirs and and smiled, something small and genuine.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk it's 1:30 and it's one of those nights.  
> Sorry it's so short.  
> Tumblr = barefootcosplayer


End file.
